“What made you get a cart?” I inquired. “This,” said Julian, “is a sort of a dog-cart. The rage is all for dog-carts just now, and we couldn’t have a phaeton, you know.” “But they aren’t painted red.” “This one is,” said Julian. “And there is no place behind for the dogs,” I further objected. “Oh, well, T’férgore won’t want to carry a dog,” said Julian. “It’s a bargain on two wheels!” Whatever is mine acquires peculiar merits in my eyes. A halo of possession arches it, making it a little better than the same thing owned by anybody else. I accepted the red cart and followed Julian into the stable-yard, where, after Fritz helped him unhitch, he showed me the points of the horse. “Women always notice the ornamental part of a turnout first,” said Julian. “Before you looked at the cart you ought to have taken in Leander.” “Is his name Leander?” I inquired. “So I have been informed,” replied Julian. “What makes him look as if he were crying?” “His eyes need sponging,” said Julian. “This warm weather is severe on a horse’s eyes.” “I hope he has not parted with any near and dear friend.” “He looks as if he could hardly stand up under some affliction.” “Horses are dear now,” observed Julian with severity, “and you can’t expect to get a thoroughbred for forty dollars. The liveryman said he shipped a car-load to Louisville last week, some of them so weak they had to lean against the sides of the car. This one is sound, and only needs a little good care to bring him out.” “Yes, his bones all look nice,” I assented. My heart began to warm toward Leander. “It’s a fine thing to own a noble animal like a horse, isn’t it, Julian?--and to see him grazing around one’s homestead.” Julian said he believed he would take Leander into the yard and let him clip off some of the grass, before stabling him. Fritz put the red cart under a shed, and helped Lena milk, while we walked enamored after our purchase from one part of the lawn to another. “What makes his hams look so sad, Julian?” I inquired with concern. “Flanks, you mean,” said Julian. “Yes. But aren’t horses usually cushiony there?” “Pigs and prize cattle are,” said Julian contemptuously. “But his hind legs run up so tall that when he lifts one he seems to be coming in two, like Baron Munchausen’s horse when it got caught in the city gates.” “Sorry you don’t like him,” observed Julian, scratching a match on his heel and lighting a cigar. “I do like him, Julian. It would be strange if I didn’t like our own horse! The way he is standing now doesn’t show his ribs so. Couldn’t we induce him to keep that position generally?” But Leander now drew all his feet nearer to a focus, and frightened me by a convulsion. “He’s just going to lie down,” explained Julian. “He wants to roll in the grass. They say a horse that rolls clear over is worth fifty dollars, anyhow. Watch him, now.”